


Motel Porn and Guilt

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Community: spnkink_meme, Dubious Consent, Guilt, Kink Meme, M/M, Molestation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-03
Updated: 2014-02-03
Packaged: 2018-01-11 00:03:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1166206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Dean was 13 he made Sam do something he knew was wrong. He's regretted it ever since.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Motel Porn and Guilt

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this kink meme prompt: http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com/78939.html?thread=28949595#t28949595

Dean kept his eyes fixed on the looping video on the TV. The sound was down low and only the faintest moans and grunts could be heard from sitting right next to the TV set. The screen flashed between lurid scenes: a woman moaning as a man fucked her from behind; the man feeding her his cock, telling her to take it, bitch; the woman on her back, her legs pushed up and obscenely wide, begging for more, more, more -

"What are you watching?"

Dean jolted and immediately switched the TV off, pushing the power button from where his finger had been hovering over it, his face red and heart pounding.

"Nothing, nothing."

He swallowed and adjusted his jeans. Sam frowned at him from over at the kitchen table where he was doing his homework.

"Just ... channel surfing," Dean said weakly. "I – uh, I'm just gonna use the toilet."

And he got up, trying to keep his body facing away from Sam to hide his erection, and locked himself in the bathroom. He leaned against the door and pressed the heel of his hand hard against his clothed erection, biting his lip and closing his eyes.

This sucked.

He was stuck in the motel room with his 9 year old brother. Dad had been gone for four days now on a hunt and Dean couldn't leave Sam on his own. But he was going crazy here. He was jacking off several times a day and the merest sight of exposed skin, the hint of cleavage or even just a pretty face of one of his classmates would give him a boner. Dad had said it was just his hormones but how much longer was it going to be like this?

He'd already gone through the 'Busty Asian Beauties' magazine he'd found at the bottom of his Dad's bag and the looped motel porn video was practically engraved in his brain now. He wanted _more_.

If someone was here to look after Sam he could go out to the arcade and flirt with the older girls that hung out there. Maybe one of them would give him a blowjob or a handjob. Or something. He just wanted _someone_ to do _something_ with his dick.

But he was never going to get it. He barely had any time to himself with Dad absent all the time and Sam being too young to leave unprotected. Who knew how long he was going to be stuck with this monk-like existence?

He squeezed his clothed dick once and decided against jerking off. He'd just put some boring documentary on and wait for his erection to go down.

He sighed and came out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

"Were you jacking off again?" said Sam, sticking his tongue out and pulling a face. "How many times do you have to do that, Dean? It's gross!"

Dean opened his mouth to retort but his eyes were suddenly caught by the sight of his brother's little pink tongue sticking out. And an idea hit him; a soft, insidious thought crawling into his mind.

"I – no, it didn't work," he said, barely aware of where the words were coming from.

Sam started laughing and Dean could see his brother was about to start teasing him about his inability to jack off. 

"It's not funny!" Dean said, cutting in. "I could—I could die, you know!"

"What?" Sam's laughter had trailed off but he was still smiling. "That's stupid, no-one dies from boners."

"Shows just how much you know!" Dean retorted. "Sometimes you can't do it on your own, sometimes-" _Was he really going to say it?_ "-Sometimes you need someone else to help you, or-or you die."

Dean couldn't believe he'd said it. Should he take it back, say he was joking? But if he could, if Sam would... And Sam was just a kid, he wouldn't understand it properly anyway, he'd just do what his big brother told him.

Sam looked uneasy and a little uncomfortable with the conversation now. "No, you don't," he said, his eyes flicking back and forth between Dean and the floor. "That's – I've never heard of that. You just do it yourself, it's called masturbating, Dean."

"Yeah, but sometimes it gets too hard and your own hand isn't enough. You need another person."

"Well, go out and find someone!" said Sam, his face creasing with annoyance and confusion. "I've got homework to do." And he pulled his work book towards him, picking up his pen again and ignoring Dean.

Dean could have left it there. It was clear Sam didn't like talking about this stuff, he was probably too young to think about it. Dean hadn't noticed him taking any interest in jacking off himself or any sticky sheets or anything. Dean would change the subject, turn on the TV and they'd never mention it again.

But he could feel his dick, throbbing and pressing painfully against the zipper of his jeans. And he couldn't stop thinking of the woman in that porno, her lips stretched wide around that cock, and that glimpse of Sam's tongue.

"I can't leave you on your own," said Dean.

Sam glanced over. "Then you'll just have to wait for it to go away."

"It doesn't work like that, Sammy. It's dangerous to leave it."

"Well, what do you want me to do?" Sam said, sounding annoyed, still ignoring Dean in favor of his homework.

"You could help."

Sam gaped at him and tried to laugh before his face scrunched up in disgust and incredulity when he realized Dean was being serious.

"What!? Eww! No, I'm not touching your dick, that's gross."

"Please, Sam, just this one time, you gotta, it really hurts." 

Sam didn't say anything, but he looked slightly concerned and Dean pushed ahead, barely caring he was outright begging.

"All that jizz, it just builds up in your balls, and if you don't get help it could explode."

Sam's face twisted with uncertainty. "They never taught us that at school..." he said.

"That's 'cause you're too young. You don't get it till you're in your teens.

Sam looked dubious and Dean wondered again if he should stop but he knew he could get Sam to do this, he just had to push him a little more.

"It's true," he said, trying to make his expression as honest as possible. "You gotta help me."

"But we're brothers ... it's weird..."

Dean cursed silently in his head. How did Sam knew about this stuff? Dad definitely hadn't given him the talk yet. He'd probably read it in some book he shouldn't have been reading. "No that's _why_ you gotta help me. We're family, we help each other. You don't want me to die, do you?"

"Of course not," said Sam uncertainly. "But shouldn't we wait till Dad-?"

"There's no time!" Dean snapped. "Dad won't be back for days. _Please_ , Sam."

Dean pushed his palm against the bulge in his jeans, a frisson of excitement going through him when he saw Sam's wide eyes trace the movement. He added in a whimper and scrunched his face into what he hoped looked like pain. _Just a little more..._

"Fine!" Sam said sharply, looking alarmed. "I'll just – just let me..." He stood up and started tidying up his homework, his eyes averted and movements abrupt. When he finished he walked up to Dean and stopped about a foot in front of him, his shoulders hunched.

"Don't be scared," said Dean, trying to make his voice light but his blood was pumping so hard it was difficult to act normal. He reached out and pulled Sam over to the bed, sitting down and making him kneel in front of him. He started to unbutton his jeans, noticing how Sam's eyes darted over and darted away just as quickly. His hands were shaking slightly, he couldn't believe he was actually going to do this. He pushed down his jeans and underpants to his feet and then decided to kick them off. When he was finished he held his hard dick in his hands, slowly jacking it while watching Sam.

"What—what do you want me to do?" asked Sam nervously.

Dean reluctantly pulled his hands away. "Just touch it, put your hand around it – God!" 

He gasped as Sam's small hand wrapped around his dick, sending shivers of pleasure up his spine. An involuntary squeak escaped his lips and his eyes rolled back. God, it was even better than he'd imagined. He needed to get Sam to do more, to-

"Dean!" cried out Sam in alarm, snatching his hand back. "Are you all right? You sound-"

"Put your hand back, put it-" Dean groaned, grabbing Sam's hand and wrapping it tight around his dick, squeezing it. "God, that feels so good."

"Really? You looked ... I thought I was hurting you."

"No ... man, Sam, no. It's—it's the best feeling in the world." Sam still looked a little uncertain but Dean ignored this. "Okay, now you have to try moving your hand, that's it, up and down, yess...

Dean closed his eyes, imagining it was a hot chick slowly jacking him, looking up at him with a sultry look, big gorgeous boobs spilling out of her top. Every pass of her fingers over his dick bringing him closer and closer to the edge. 

"Dean, am I doing this right?" came a small voice. "Your penis is getting all sticky..."

Dean's eyes flew open, his fantasy ruined. "Wha-? Oh, yeah, you're doing great Sam. Just—why don't you try something else?" Dean's mouth was dry. "Try ... licking it."

"What!" Sam protested. "I'm not licking it, that's gross! Ewww!"

"Please, Sam," Dean pleaded unashamedly. "You need to suck it, it doesn't work properly if you just touch it. Please, I could die."

"But you said you just wanted me to touch it." Sam was looking suspicious now.

"Yeah, at first you have to do that," said Dean. "But you have to suck out the jizz at the end. It can't come out on it's own."

"But it's gross..." 

"Please Sam. Please please please-"

"Fine, I’ll do it!" said Sam petulantly. "But you owe me."

"You're the best little brother ever," said Dean fervently. "If this happens to you when you're older I'll suck your dick too."

"You don't need to," Sam said quietly, then he took Dean's dick in his hand, leaned over and tentatively touched his tongue to the head.

Dean hissed. "Yes, yes, that's it, please Sam please-"

Sam licked a stripe up the length of Dean's cock and started lapping at it, like a little kitten. Dean fell back on the bed, squirming at the feelings. "Sam, that's so good, just try, put it in your mouth and suck on it, please..."

Dean yelled when Sam's warm mouth engulfed his dick, only the head but his hands were wrapped around the base, encasing his dick in warmth. It felt so good, like what he imagined it would feel like to have sex, thrusting into a woman and massaging her boobs and kissing her, making her feel so good.

Dean brought his hand to his mouth and bit on the knuckles. The heat and pleasure built up and crescendoed, pulling the arousal out of him through his dick, his come spurting into the warmth. He lay there half-conscious, registering that Sam was coughing and complaining it was 'So gross!'. 

He pushed himself up and gave a dopey smile, ruffling Sam's hair. Sam glared at him, come dripping from his mouth, wiping at it ineffectually. It was that image that sent the first spike of wrongness spreading through Dean. Sam pushed himself up and ran for the bathroom. Dean sat there as still as a statue, barely hearing the sounds of Sam running the tap and spitting into the sink.

He couldn't get that image of Sam out of his head. It wasn't ... kids weren't meant to have sex or give blowjobs. And Dean had made him, he'd pushed Sam into it, taken advantage of him. Sam was his little brother, he was meant to protect him, not force him to suck his dick. 

Then another, terrible thought struck Dean. What would his Dad say if he ever found out? His stomach lurched and he clutched it tightly. Sweat was starting to bead on his forehead, real panic setting in. Oh God, Dad...

His stomach gave up at that and Dean jumped to his feet and bolted for the bathroom, throwing himself in front of the toilet and vomiting up the lucky charms they'd had for dinner. Oh fuck, oh shit, what had he done?

"Dean!" He heard a concerned cry and a little hand rubbed his back. "What's the matter?"

Dean shuddered, guilt washing over him. How could Sam stand to touch him after what Dean had done to him? Sam's hand left him and he heard the tap running again before a damp, cool towel was placed on his forehead, Sam patting him on the head and looking worried. Dean stared up at him with despair, unable to believe his little brother could still care about him. God, he was the worst big brother ever.

He opened his mouth, fully intending to confess everything before he shut it with a snap. Dad would - Dad would throw him out, call the CPS and Sam would never forgive him. He'd never see Sam again. 

"It's - it's normal, that's just what happens when ... when you get rid of all that built-up jizz," he said weakly and then he rested his head on the toilet lid, ashamed that he could still be so cowardly and selfish. Sam didn't even realize what they'd done. He just thought he'd helped out his brother. But if he ever found out, who knew how much it would mess him up. No ... Dean couldn't tell him. It was for Sam's own good.

Somehow this decision didn't seem to reassure Dean. He slumped weakly against the toilet, his little brother rubbing his back and fussing over him, every touch feeling like daggers of guilt digging into him.

***

The next few days were awful. Dean felt like he was treading on eggshells the entire time, consumed with the thought that the fallout would be coming soon. Sam seemed a little wary around his brother too. He was quieter and he didn't tease Dean or ask him to play with him anymore. When Dad came back Dean was sure it was over, sure that Sam would tell Dad and that would be it.

But Sam didn't say anything. And after a while he was back to his old self.

Dean gradually started to relax and stopped fearing that Dad was going to chuck him out and disown him. He didn't know why Sam hadn't turned him in, and he couldn't understand how Sam could go back to acting normally, with no signs of being uncomfortable around his brother.

Actually, he kind of wished Sam had said something, not to Dad, but to Dean. He would welcome a beat-down, he deserved it. This normality, the complete ignoring of what had happened was almost worse. In the absence of punishment from anyone else he took up punishing himself in his thoughts, and gradually the self-hatred became an ordinary part of his thought landscape, though he never let on to the outside world that he was less than completely confident and secure in himself.

He threw himself into his own love life to distract himself. He chased after the girls at school, seduced them and fucked them. Every time he slept with another girl he'd try to use the experience to convince himself that he wasn't a pervert or a pedophile. He was attracted to women, his newest conquest was the proof! But he couldn't get rid of the constant fear in the back of his mind. What if he really was attracted to kids, what if it was an unconscious desire, what if he was just kidding himself?

It was when Sam was 16 that he finally had confirmation of what had happened. 

"Dean..." 

Sam spoke up from his position on the coach, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Dean grunted, not looking away from the crappy sitcom. Dad had gone out drinking for the night but Dean was still banged up from the hunt a few days ago and had elected to take it easy for tonight.

"There's ... there's this girl at school," Sam said, hesitating. "She, uh, she asked me out last week..."

"What?" Dean said, finally tearing his eyes away from the screen. "You have a girlfriend? Why didn't you tell me?"

This was the first time Sam had mentioned anything about this. He always seemed utterly uninterested in the girls at school, or even the boys. Dean would point out hot girls in Sam's class, try to hint that Sam should ask them out and Sam would just shrug and quickly change the subject. Dean had worried he'd managed to ruin his brother's love life before it had even started. But finally, here was something that proved that maybe Dean hadn't wrecked everything. 

"I don't have to tell you everything," Sam replied hotly. "And it's none of your business anyway."

"Okay, fine, sorry," Dean said quickly, not wanting Sam to clam up when he'd finally started talking about this stuff. He switched off the TV and turned towards Sam, giving him his full attention. "What did you want to know?" 

"She ... she said she wants to, _you know_."

"Okay. So what's the problem? It's not like this is the first time messing around for you."

"Dean!" Sam flushed a violent red. "I haven't - we're not all man-whores like you!"

"But you've done some stuff already." Sam shook his head. "But I thought - when you were a kid..."

"I'm only 16, Dean! I don't know when you started but I want my first time to be with something I really like."

"You - really? It's your first time?" asked Dean.

"Of course," said Sam, looking stunned.

A horrible realization was creeping up on Dean, like a blanket suffocating him. He somehow made it through the conversation and gave his brother a few general tips on pleasing women, which seemed to make Sam happy. When it was over he made an excuse about wanting to take a shower and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Jesus. Sam didn't remember. He hadn't had a clue what Dean was talking about.

Dean didn't know what to think, couldn't decide whether this was a good or bad thing. It was proof that what he'd done to Sam was such a bad memory that he'd blocked it from his mind but maybe without that memory Sam could have a normal life and go out with girls.

A few days later Sam went out and was gone the whole night. As soon as he heard his brother sneaking back in in the early morning Dean sprang out of bed and starting asking for details. Sam blushed and refused to answer but Dean knew from the soft, pleased look on Sam's face that it had gone well.

Sam never brought the subject up again but Dean was fine with that. Sam was kind of a private person anyway. Dean was just happy he hadn't messed Sam up too much. He couldn't have, if Sam had managed to get a girlfriend. The guilt slowly started to fade away into the background.

When Sam left to go for university Dean was torn up, but he was mostly confident that at least it had nothing to do with what he had done. How could it, if Sam didn't remember? And maybe it was better this way, there was no chance that Dean could mess Sam up any further if they never saw each other again.

He had to go back on that resolution a few years later when he needed Sam's help to find Dad. And when he saw Sam standing there, his arms around the gorgeous blonde Jess, he finally felt okay. Sam had managed to get his normal life and have a normal relationship, and that was all Dean had ever wanted for him.

Unfortunately that didn't last and their past caught up with Sam. But they were back together again and even if Dean couldn't confess what he'd done he tried to make it up to Sam, gently pushed him towards women they met, encouraging Sam to have some fun and no-strings one-night-stands. After all, it couldn't be healthy to go without sex for that long.

And now the hunt had led them here, to Chicago, where they were captured by Meg, that bitch who'd insulted Dean to his face and who'd turned out to be a demon. What a surprise.

Dean pulled ineffectually at the ropes tied tightly around his hands, cursing inwardly that the demon had already taken his knife.

"So this is a trap for our Dad," he said, trying to draw her attention away from Sam.

She smiled and studied the knife in her hand. "Yep. I've no doubt he'll come rescue his precious boys but in the meantime, I've got some time to kill..."

She crouched down in front of Dean and dragged the knife down his cheek, just hard enough to break the skin and draw a line of blood.

"Leave him the fuck alone!" shouted Sam.

Meg cocked her head in Sam's direction. "Really, Sam, you're defending him? I meant it when I said I would kill him if it were me. There were a lot of us very angry after what Dean did to you."

Dean's eyes darted between Sam and Meg, horror was starting to dawn in him, an awful suspicion forming in his mind.

"I don't have a clue what you're talking about and I don't care," said Sam. 

Meg stood up, looking over at Sam consideringly. "You don't know? Or you don't remember? Father did wonder why you stayed after that."

"Sam, don't listen to her!" Dean yelled. "Demons lie!"

"No, I'm not lying," said Meg. "And your brother has gotten away with this for far too long. Time for some home truths."

Sam didn't say anything, just looked between her and Dean, his body trembling. Dean shut his eyes and turned his head away, not wanting to see Sam's reaction.

"He abused you, your big brother. He made you suck his cock, when you were only 9."

"You're a fucking liar!" Sam screamed. "Dean would never do that!" 

"Look at him, he's not exactly denying it, is he?" Meg's voice was full of sadistic glee. "He can't even look at you."

"Dean! Dean! It's not true, tell her!"

Dean hunched over; his face hidden in his knees like he could deflect Meg's accusations and Sam's pleading. He clenched his bound hands and took a deep breath before looking over at his brother. "Sam..." he said shakily.

The guilt in that one word was all it took. "Dean..." Sam whispered, shock and hurt breaking into his expression.

"Oh Sammy," Meg cooed, kneeling down beside Sam and stroking his hair. "I told you your family doesn't treat you right."

Sam was shaking, eyes still fixed on Dean, and he flinched when she touched him. Then things were happening so fast that Dean was barely able to process them. Sam slashed at Meg with a knife, suddenly free from his bindings, and Meg screamed. He sent her crashing to the floor with a kicked and sprinted to the altar, toppling it in one smooth motion. The shadows in the room congealed and the Daevas sprang out, dragging Meg across the floor and sending her plummeting out the window. 

When it was all over Sam was left standing in the room, his shoulders heaving as he panted for air. He turned around and Dean froze as his brother walked steadily towards him, still holding the knife. He closed his eyes, sure that any second now he was going to feel the knife sliding into his guts. But all Sam did was grab his hands roughly and cut the ropes. 

"Sammy..." Dean whispered as he opened his eyes, not moving from the floor.

Sam took a deep breath and looked away. "I'm not talking about this right now. We need to deal with this Daevas."

Dean nodded mutely and allowed Sam to take the lead, following several steps behind him. 

Dad was there when they got back to the motel. Dean was numb with fear during the ensuing reunion and fight, barely able to concentrate on anything, relying on instinct to get him through it. And when they escaped the demon he argued that they should separate. He knew now that all he did was hurt his family.

They left that night. Dean driving, tense and unable to break the silence between them. Sam was silent, staring out of the window as they left Chicago. Dean drove for an hour, just far enough to leave some space between them and their enemies, before they stopped for the night. It was only when they walked into the motel room and the door was closed that Dean got up the courage to speak.

"Sam, I am so s-"

"Shut up!" Sam hissed and whirled around. "Just shut up, Dean! I don't care about your excuses. I want to know why you did it, how the fuck could you-?"

"I - Sammy, I don't know," Dean stuttered, his voice breaking. "I was - I was a stupid kid."

"You were 13, that's old enough to realize you shouldn't abuse your younger brother!"

Dean backed away, hitting the wall. "Sam, I'm sorry. I - you were right, our childhood messed us up and-"

"Don't blame Dad for this! Give me a fucking real reason for why you did it!"

Dean's voice failed and he swallowed painfully. "I knew it was wrong," he finally admitted, and the first tear slipped out. "I just didn't care. I was horny and you were too young to know better and I could make you do it. I'm so sorry, Sam, I'm so fucking sorry." He slid down the wall, his legs suddenly too weak to support his weight.

There was a tense silence. Dean couldn't take his eyes away from his brother, frozen as he awaited Sam's response. 

"I trusted you," Sam said finally. "You always said you had my back."

"I'm sorry..." Dean croaked, his throat closing up.

"You're not the person I thought you were. I can't - I can't be around you."

Sam turned away and started grabbing his belongings. "Sammy, _please_..." Dean said, finally getting the courage to move, stretching out a hand.

Sam paused for a second at the door. "Goodbye, Dean." And the door slammed. Sam was gone.

***

Dean spent the next week in an alcohol fuelled haze. He shut himself up in the motel room and drank and sobbed and threw up. This was it. He was never going to see Sammy again. But he deserved it. He'd ruined both their lives.

At one point Dad sent him some coordinates. Dean ignored it. Someone else could deal with it. He wasn't fit for anything, not even hunting anymore. If he had any decency he'd kill himself.

Sam left messages on his answerphone, calling him names, crying, saying he fucking hated him, begging him 'why, why did you do it?'. Dean listened to and saved every single one, bringing them out to listen to any time he felt a little better, felt like they could get through this.

Dean was lying on the bed half-dozing when the phone rang. He groped around for it and answered it before he could remember why this was a bad idea. There was silence on the other end before Sam spoke, "Dean..."

"Sammy," slurred Dean.

"I remember it."

"Oh, God..." Dean pushed himself up and felt around for the bottle of vodka, taking a swig from it.

"You - you fed me some bullshit reason, blue balls or something?"

Dean just groaned, burying his face in his forearm.

"You fucking bastard," said Sam, and the venom and hatred in his voice made Dean start to cry; embarrassing, uninhibited drunk tears. "You fucker. I was - I was just a _kid_ and you took advantage of me."

"Sammy, what can I do to make up for it? I said I'm sorry," said Dean helplessly. "I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing you do, Dean. You can't erase it, you can't take it back." Sam's voice hitched with the next words. "You _betrayed_ me, I looked up to you, my big brother and you -"

Dean bit his lip and smushed his face into the mattress of the bed, trying to sob quietly enough that Sam couldn't hear.

Then Sam spoke up. "I've been dreaming about it as well ... Dean, did you - did you rape me?"

"What? Sam, no, it was only a blowjob, one time. I would _never_ -" Dean said desperately, cold horror sliding down his spine.

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" Sam demanded. "I can't believe anything you say anymore. After what you did, it's not a big jump to raping me."

"It didn't happen. It's - you're thinking about it a lot, it's your mind, playing tricks on you, I swear."

"I _remember_ it, Dean, I dreamt it -"

"No, Sam, please. I wouldn't lie to you again, just please trust me on this. After - after I made you, I knew how wrong I was and I wouldn't have done it again. I felt so bad and-"

"I don't want to hear this, I've got no pity for you."

"No, you're right," said Dean, his voice strangled from speaking around the lump in his throat. "I know I don't deserve any."

There was a short silence. "There was nothing else? You swear, it was only that one time?"

"I swear," said Dean, desperate for Sam to believe him.

"...Fine. I don't know why the fuck I still believe you after ... but fine, whatever." The phone cut off, just a ringing sound in his ear.

Dean threw it off the bed, dragged the covers towards him and huddled up inside them.

The answer phone messages stopped after that. Dean managed to drag himself out of the motel room to buy food, he couldn't stomach the constant alcohol anymore and had been throwing up most of it when he'd been drinking on an empty stomach. He slept a lot, sweating and trying to ride out the dizziness and nausea as he detoxed. He didn't know how Sam was doing and he was starting to resign himself to the fact that Sam was probably never going to forgive him.

Two weeks passed. Dean decided he needed to get back into hunting. He'd moped around for long enough and evidently he was too much of a coward to kill himself. So he may as well do something constructive.

He packed up his stuff and hit the road. He picked the harder hunts and went after the monsters and ghosts with almost suicidal determination. Sam was right; he couldn't make up for what he'd done, this was all he was good for now. When he wasn't hunting he spent his time at bars, sitting on his own and nursing a drink all night, thinking about Sam, composing apologies in his head over and over again until he felt he had something good enough.

"Sam, you already know how sorry I am. I was wrong and I knew it, even then. If you never want to see me again ... I understand. You just do what's best for you, Sammy. I've already messed you up enough."

He left it as a message on Sam's phone. He didn't hear anything until a week later.

There was a long silence at the beginning of Sam's message, just the sound of the wind blowing wherever he was. Then Sam's voice, sighing, sounding tired.

"Dean ... I've started seeing this counsellor ... I feel, I don't know ... he's helped me see some things a bit clearer ... That's all. I just wanted to let you know I'm doing okay."

Dean saved that message as well. He listened to it at night, curled up underneath the covers, the sound of the wind and Sam's voice in his ear, like Sam was there with him.

Two more weeks went by. 

Dean was sitting leaned against the headboard of the motel's bed, looking through several regional newspapers for possible hunts. His mobile started ringing, buzzing on the side table. Dean let it ring, assuming Sam was going to leave a message. It cut off and then started ringing again almost immediately. Dean stared at it and let it ring until it cut off. A few seconds later it rang again. This time Dean lunged for it and picked it up.

"Sammy?" he gasped.

"...Dean." Dean didn't know how to interpret the tone of Sam's voice. "I'm ... I'm in Denver. Can you ... come pick me up?"

"Of course!" Dean sat up, his heart suddenly pounding. "Are you - are you okay? I'm in Madison. I can be there in 12 hours, tops."

"I'm fine," said Sam. "I just ... need to meet up with you."

"I'll be there by 7 tomorrow morning. Just hang on."

Dean drove like a mad man through the night, keeping himself awake with cans of Red Bull from gas stations. When he finally arrived outside the bar Sam said he would be at he was exhausted. He got out of the car and leaned against the door, resting his forehead on the cool metal roof of the Impala for a moment. 

There was the rattle of keys in a door, Dean looked up and there Sam was; pushing open the door of the bar and standing there, duffel bag on his shoulders, looking wary.

"I've been staying here in exchange for doing some shifts," said Sam. 

Dean nodded wildly, not sure what he was agreeing with. "Here, let me get your bag," he said and stepped forward, reaching out to grab it. 

Sam flinched and backed away, gripping the bag even tighter. "I've got it," he said shortly.

"Of - of course." Dean shifted awkwardly, rubbed his hand over the back of his hair. He opened his mouth to say something, anything.

"What you did to me," Sam interrupted. "I never thought you could do that, Dean. I trusted you. You were just a kid as well, I know, but ... I can't forgive you, not right now anyway. But I don't want to never see you again." 

"Sam, do you mean-?"

"I'm coming back. But I'm setting some boundaries. We're getting separate rooms. And this counsellor, I'm getting phone appointments with him, and I want you to talk to him as well."

"I - Sammy, yes, whatever you want." Dean was starting to tear up, he could feel it. "Thank you."

Sam nodded tightly and stepped past Dean to throw his bag in the back of the car before sliding into the passenger seat. Dean stood there for a second and then got in the front, starting the engine and feeling the rumble reverberate throughout the car.

"So where do you want to go?" he asked.

Sam shrugged. "There's a haunted house in Richardson, East Texas. We could check it out."

"Okay," said Dean as he pulled away from the curb. "Let's go, then."

He glanced over at Sam. He wasn't staring out of the window, his body curved away from Dean, like he had been that awful drive out of Chicago. He was just slouching in his seat, staring ahead.

"Hey," said Dean. "You can pick the music, if you want."

Sam startled. "Really? Uh, okay." And he twisted around, grabbing the box of cassette tapes from the back and starting to rifle through it.

It wasn't perfect. There were still problems. There was a deep crack in their relationship but it could be glued back together, even if it would never be the same as before. For the first time since this whole mess Dean had hope. They could get through this.


End file.
